


Who Put Bella in the Wych Elm?

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Ron Weasley, Aurors, Blow Jobs, Canonical Child Abuse, Case Fic, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, H/D Cluefest 2021, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, POV Alternating, Past Child Abuse, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sexual Abuse, Smut, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but I mean the story's about the Black family so go figure, but not between / happening to Drarry, they are canonically the most fucked up family there ist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 15,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: As sad as it was for a family to come to this point: no one would put it past the others to be able to raise their hand and wand against a cousin, an aunt or even a son.Merlin knows, it had been happening often enough in the House of Black.So that left the attendees with one question.Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?*Harry & Draco are Walburga Black's guests at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to find the one, true heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. What had the potential to go terribly wrong, went one step further and culminated in a dead body and twelve suspects.
Relationships: Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: H/D Cluefest 2021





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> A very heartfelt thanks to my beta F, who is not as much of a Harry Potter fan as she is legally obligated to as my sister. 
> 
> Also thank you to the amazing mods for creating this fest and doing amazing detective work!
> 
> And also, thanks to you for giving this fic a chance :)!
> 
> My prompt for this fest was #85:  
> "After a fateful dinner party at Malfoy Manor, none of the guests are allowed to leave until an investigator gets to the bottom of an important mystery: who murdered the host, Lucius Malfoy? (a non-drarry POV could be fun for this? but not necessary, just an idea)"  
> Thank you, dear TheFifthBiscuit, for this Knives Out-esque prompt! I took it and ran with it and changed it a bit because if there's a fucked up family in the HP verse then it's the Blacks - but I hope, it's still to your liking!

"Auror Weasley, your immediate assistance is needed. We got a body. Cause and manner of death are not identifiable upon first examination… might be a curse innate to the location or a prank gone wrong or a murder over an inheritance. Who even knows, everything could have been possible tonight. Either way we got twelve suspects." 

The silvery glimmering patronus trotted nervously around his bathroom where the Auror had just been brushing his teeth, ready to turn in for an early evening after pulling a double shift. 

"Understood, Head Auror. Where are you?"

"At my in-laws' place. Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London. Oh, and Weasley? You can consider me one of your prime suspects. Good luck with your investigation." 

The majestic stag evaporated into thin air, leaving behind a shocked silence. 


	2. 31.10.2002 | When it happened

When it happened, it happened quickly. No one had seen it coming and what's more: No one had wanted to see it coming. Hear nothing, see nothing, say nothing. And maybe it could have worked and maybe everyone present could have made it through the night unscathed. They had already made it past the hors d'oeuvres and main dish. There had been just the dessert and appointing an heir left on the agenda and they could have gone home, never to return again. 

This night was supposed to be an innocent Samhain celebration with family. Or as innocent and familial as a soiree hosted by Walburga Black could hope to be. 

It happening was the culmination of an evening boiling with expectations none of the guests were willing to meet, long buried resentment rearing its ugly head, and an ever simmering hate.

But what this night ended with was a mangled body, grotesquely strung up among the branches of an ancient elm tree - romantically bathed in the warm light of the ancestral home rising up behind it and a child playing among the roots. 

"Filth! Scum! Blood traitors! You did it, you killed the one true heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!" The screeching wails of Walburga Black were echoing through the halls of Number 12 Grimmauld Place to haunt the guests of one doomed Samhain celebration for years to come. 

There was no love lost between most in attendance. Rather, there had been a cloying, sickening mantle of mistrust and aversion pressing down on the whole affair for hours now. And as sad as it was for a family to come to this point: no one would put it past the others to be able to raise their hand and wand against a cousin, an aunt or even a son. 

Merlin knows, it had been happening often enough in the House of Black.

So that left the attendees with one question. 

Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?


	3. 30.10.2002 | Before | Harry

Pressing his head back into the pillow, Harry groaned deeply. 

The delicious burn of being stretched open while a strong, firm body rubbed and pressed against his was exquisite. Which may be because the body in question knew exactly how to move to push Harry closer to the edge. 

Those strong hands gripping possessively onto his hip and shoulder, pulling him back onto that magnificent cock. A cock that stroked across his prostate with every other thrust, filling him up completely and reaching so very deep inside him. Those trim hips that snapped relentlessly into him and that fit so perfectly in the cradle of his spread legs. 

A bite to the neck brought him back into the moment. 

"Potter, am I boring you?" Another forceful jab to his prostate made him keen high in his throat. 

That haughty voice that never lost its snobbish accent even between guttural grunts and low moans that made his toes curl. That wispy blond hair that was so soft between his clenched fingers. Those silver eyes looking down at him lovingly. 

"Draco…," On a sigh, Harry pulled the other man into a deep kiss. "Harder, fuck me harder!" 

A glint in those beloved silvery eyes was all the warning he got. For his insolence, Draco slipped out of him and before he could even whine about the loss, he was roughly pushed over. He found himself on his knees, chest pressed down to the mattress. 

And then it was a reckless, wild abandon.

He choked on a moan and came wildly with only a few harsh snaps of Draco's hips, that gorgeous cock zeroing in on his prostate. He could distantly feel the blond stiffen behind him and the next thing he knew was being carefully cradled in those strong arms and being pulled against a pale, strong chest.

“Hey there, love, you back with me?” Draco murmured softly and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s forehead. 

Stretching luxuriously and letting his hands wander up that beautiful chest until he had them wrapped around Draco’s neck. One hand in particular, that was newly adorned with a beautiful silver ring. He wriggled around a bit, letting his soft cock brush deliberately against the other’s crotch, until he was up in his boyfriend’s face.

“Just now… that was amazing. I feel way better about tomorrow.”

“Glad my dick could be of use as your personal de-stressor.” With a grin, Draco peppered butterfly kisses across Harry’s tan cheekbones. 

“But seriously, how can you be so calm about this? There’s a huge Black family dinner party looming over us, why are you not a nervous wreck like me?” 

“Maybe because I grew up with this whole pureblood extravaganza crap and even the Black crazy cannot really faze me at this point.” He carded his fingers through Harry’s unruly locks, hoping to calm the man down. “Also, inheritance talk is a Malfoy’s favourite kind of small talk. Just the possibility that I could be proclaimed the Heir of House Black has Father’s mood at an all time high. He cannot wait to incorporate the Black treasure into the Malfoy faults.”

Smirking down at where Harry was pouting on his chest, he wrapped his arms even tighter around the other man. 

“Of course, Potter, you’re atrocious at small talk. I’ll never understand how no one ever taught you how to behave in proper society considering who your parents are. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you tomorrow.”

Harry leaned into the fingers still twisted into his hair, trying to tell Draco to get on with the petting. 

“But what about us? Aren’t you afraid that they’re going to find out about us?” Green eyes met silvery grey and although he tried not to let his worry show, he couldn’t help the furrow digging in between his brows. 

“Well it’s not as if we plan to keep it a secret for much longer. Can you imagine their faces? The scion of House of Malfoy about to wed a Potter? Maybe that will be the last straw to push great aunt Walburga into the afterlife or put aunt Bella into the Janus Thickey Ward. We'd deserve an Order of Merlin for either one.”

Harry did not imagine the glee in Draco’s voice. He could not say that it put his worries to rest.


	4. 31.10.2002 | After | Ron

Warily, Ronald Weasly glanced up at the townhouse revealing itself to the world in front of him. Looking left and right to its neighbouring counterparts, number 11 and 13, he could envision how nice it must have looked once. But now, standing in the milky light of the street lamp, a soft London drizzle coming down around him, and cold seeping into his bones - the house looked like an empty void, ready to suck all happiness and cheer from you. 

He had heard about Number 12 Grimmauld Place, of course. Had, in fact, heard about it just a few hours ago during a rambling re-telling of imagined horrors that his best friends had predicted to happen here that very same evening. 

Ron had had a front-row seat to a thousand and one made up stories of how Harry could get caught with his hands in places they shouldn’t be when the hostess of the Samhain celebration was a deranged aunt. Of how the Potters would react to getting introduced to Harry’s new boyfriend that he maybe even planned on proposing to. And of how his potential father in law may or may not be able to nip his Quidditch career in the bud. 

But for as colourful as all of the other man’s envisioned tragedies for tonight had been, none of them had included a dead body. Maybe someone getting disinherited or a parent being unconsolable and disappointed - but surely no murder. 

Shaking himself, he climbed the steps and pushed through the open door with an ominous snaky knocker into the house decisively. A shudder raced down his back when he found himself in a long, gloomy hallway. Old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life with a soft hissing sound, shedding light on a grand entryway, complete with an imposing chandelier hovering above his head. Ornate portraits lined the dreary hallway, whispering and murmuring maliciously in the eerie silence as he passed them. It felt like he was trespassing in a mausoleum. A lavishly decorated, magnificent mausoleum that is. 

The opulence and a few clearly audible "blood traitors" made Ron feel like dirt. If the rest of the Sacred 28 lived like that, then it definitely put some things into perspective. You practically had to grow up to be a dickhead when there were snakes writhing all around you, watching your every move, and your deceased ancestors muttering behind your back all the time. 

Two minutes within the confines of the Black domicile and he had the urgent need to write his parents a heartfelt thank you note for making the Burrow a real home.

He had a feeling that it was going to be a long night for all of them.


	5. 31.10.2002 | Before | Harry

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was looming up above him and Harry couldn't shake a feeling of unease. He had never been here before, not that he was unhappy about that fact. While watching the townhouse squeeze itself into existence grotesquely, he was rather grateful to his papa for giving the whole Borough of Islington a wide berth until now. 

They never talked all that much about the House of Black at home. Sure, there were his uncle Sirius' tirades that occured once a year where he spewed insults, that would get Harry grounded for using them even at the ripe age of 22, before falling into an impenetrable bubble of silence and stupor. 

By what he could piece together until this very Samhain, life at the ancestral family home was grim. Sirius and his brother both left it when both of them were even younger than Harry was now. 

It had always made him weary to imagine the horrors that made his flamboyant and exuberant uncle withdraw into himself and all that cheery energy warp itself into crazed hysteria. 

The hushed voices of his parents behind him only intensified the odd feeling of foreboding that had taken root in his mind. When the invitation had arrived for “Messrs Potter to be the esteemed guests of one Walburga Black to proclaim the one, true Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black”, his dad’s first reaction was to set fire to the letter before even reading it to the end. 

Safe to say, it hadn’t had the good grace to turn to ashes and dust.

His pa’s face had taken on a sickly pallor and his hand had been shaking with fine tremors when he reached for the parchment. After tracing the broken wax seal with careful fingers, he had looked up at his husband with sorrowful eyes.

“We have to go, James. The House of Black will claim a new heir and with me adopting him, Harry will be considered as well. We need to go voluntarily or the family magic will force us to attend either way. And you know how Black magic works.”

Whatever tonight would bring, he could only hope for them all to make it through safely. With that in mind and just a tiny bit of anticipation to see a certain someone tonight, he climbed the worn set of front steps.

But when he stepped closer to the front door, he couldn’t make out any handles, knobs or even keyholes. All there was, was a silver knocker, shaped like a twisted serpent with mean-spirited gleaming eyes. 

"Let me, Harry. It only opens for Blacks", the lithe form of his papa moved elegantly around him. “Or at least for their blood that is.”

Holding his hand up towards the knocker, Regulus Black held his back ramrod straight as the silver serpent twisted into life. With an aggressive twist forward, its incisors embedded themselves into his palm.

"Pap-..." A strong, sure hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Later, Haz. It's going to be a long night and this is only the beginning." The frown etched into his father's regal features made Harry pause.

He watched the two men exchange a grim look and swallowed heavily. Suddenly, his earlier worries seemed irrelevant.


	6. 31.10.1982 | Long Ago | Regulus

Regulus had thought he could stand anything. Could stand a life of being the spare, to be nothing more than an expendable second choice. To be, if nothing else, the picture perfect second-born son that was at least valuable enough to barter away into a prestigious marriage arrangement if nothing else. 

To be the tiny, dying star next to his older brother’s all-consuming supernova of charisma, rebellion, and a heart of gold. It had taken him some time to realise that he was more like a moon to Sirius’ sun - soaking up that bright light and love the older son showered him with and reflecting it back to the world. 

Only, that sentimental self-discovery didn't provide him much cover when for the first time in his life, he had all the destructive magic of his mother's rage directed at him full force. Because when you were the only son left, there was no one to compare you to. No more 'Regulus is the better son'. Just 'Regulus is not a good enough son'. The tables turned quickly in the House of Black. 

But he had picked himself back up then, a haughty expression permanently fixed on his face. The heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was not allowed to show weakness. And he had picked himself up each time after that as well.

And as such, he had been sure that he could weather each storm that was his mother’s rage and anger, even after Sirius had left him behind. 

To be fair, he had weathered it. Had withstood each tirade and slur and vocal abuse hailing down on him. He had pulled himself together after volley upon volley of curses had been lashed down upon him. He would force down any flinch each time his mother would reach for her wand. He was pushed beyond each and every breaking point until there was nothing left of him for his mother to destroy. 

By now, he couldn’t even regret anymore that he had not been brave enough to run away with Sirius that one fateful night six years ago. 

So he had been foolish in believing himself safe because what more was there for her to take from him? But then again, he should have known better. 

But how should he have foreseen that his mother had indeed planned for more. That she would invite Bellatrix to participate in one of her reprimanding sessions.

How should he have imagined what both women were willing to do to finally bring forth the one, true heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Never had he seen a reason to question what Bellatrix could mean by her vow to stay "toujours pur", to what lengths she would go to.

And what any of that had to do with him. Should have guessed that even his duty to marry and to sire the next heir could be twisted beyond recognition. 

Maybe he should have. Maybe he had been as naive as Sirius had always claimed him to be. 

But as he apparated from Number 12 Grimmauld Place for the last time, he left his self-doubts and self-reproaches there in the grim and bleak halls of his childhood. They wanted the worst of him? They could very well keep it.

"Sirius, take me to Sirius!" Pushing the last of his magic into the twist and pull of the apparition, he only had a short moment where a distant part of his mind scolded him.

"Never apparate without a clear destination in mind!" It sounded ominously like Professor McGonagall.

So when he landed inside a cozy living room, stumbling over an army of stuffed animals, he was disoriented for just a second. It shouldn't have surprised him that the last thing he saw before passing out were the shocked but ever so warm brown eyes of one James Fleamont Potter.

Oh well.

He would worry about his beaten, bloodied, and sullied appearance later. For now, he was safe. For the first time in forever.


	7. 31.10.2002 | Before | Draco

It had been a long time since he had last been here, must have been a decade at least. Not that he had any fond memories of this place, mind you. But a Malfoy never showed weakness, so he held his head high as he entered the building after his parents.

At some point, the townhouse might have been a real beauty, Draco would allow that. Back in the day when an early member of the Black family first got their grubby hands on it by “persuading” the original Muggle owner to leave. Back when dark magic hadn’t seeped into its wall and foundations and very core and warped it beyond recognition. 

Maybe back then he wouldn’t have been that averse to inherit it. He wouldn’t be opposed to a love nest in the city when Wiltshire became too much. A few centuries ago the house would have had potential. Now though, with darkness clinging to its every corner? He certainly wouldn’t volunteer to take it off his great aunt’s hands. What was that inheritance talk even about? The old hag surely had a few decades in her still, bitterness keeping her alive and kicking and such. 

Taking in the long entrance hall and the majestic staircase lined with severed and shrunken house-elf heads, mounted to the wall on plaques, he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in distaste. And what even was the thought process behind using the severed leg of a troll as an umbrella stand? That was so 16th century, he was afraid some of that bad taste would rub off on him by simply breathing in that dusty air. 

Even if he had worked through the misguided beliefs on blood purity and elitism his family were still so fond of, he couldn’t really work out the original thought process behind that real estate acquisition. Was he really meant to believe that any member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black willingly accepted sharing walls left and right with the Muggle inhabitants of numbers 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place up until now? 

Lost in thought, he didn't even realise that his parents went upstairs, leaving him behind with the elf heads. Locking eyes with one frail looking head, he tried to make sense of the grotesque choice of interior once more. 

"Mate, why?" 

So was he really supposed to sit down for dinner and act as if his dear aunt Walburga, who loved to spew slander and abuse about Muggles, Muggle-borns, and Half-bloods and who beheaded her old house-elves, had never felt bothered by her neighbours? 

The double standards of this family…

He hoped to cut this visit short either way. Maybe first course and if push comes to shove the main one as well. Just declare auntie Bella the heir and be done with this farce. And to think that not only the Blacks and Malfoys but also the Potters and Tonks were invited for a family gathering… A catastrophe was basically waiting to happen… 

The only saving grace of this evening would be if he could get Harry to blow him in front of that wretched tapestry or in Sirius Black's old childhood bedroom. He could work that one in nicely when the Deputy Head Auror came around his hospital ward with a twisted ankle again after Harry and he had made their engagement official. 

He was staring at a particularly ugly head mounted to the wall when he heard the front door open behind him. Before he could even turn around, there was a loud booming and banging behind him. 

"Sodding, buggering fuck!" 

Whipping around, he laid eyes on the pleasing tableau of one Nymphadora Tonks sprawled across the entrance hall, a myriad of ancestors scowling down at her from their frames. Cherry on the top was the atrocious umbrella stand, knocked over.

"Graceful as ever, Nymphadora!" He couldn’t help the smirk when he rushed down the staircase to help her up.

His efforts were met with a disgusted groan.

"Malfoy, can you for once act like the despicable cousin not far enough removed that you are and call me Tonks like everybody else?" Grabbing his offered hand, she pulled herself up. "Come on, I want to hear you say it!" 

He couldn’t help but chuckle when she poked him in the side with her wand. Sneaky Aurors, always had their wand at the ready while you are none the wiser.

"A Malfoy doesn’t run with the masses, Nymphadora. People could think that we actually like each other if I called you by your preferred name."

Taking a step away from him, Tonks cast a glance up the sprawling staircase from where a soft murmuring could be heard. 

"Your folks already here?" 

Nodding, Draco gestured to the ceiling above them. "They went ahead, I was a bit distracted by the interior. But my guess is that the reception is planned in the Drawing Room.”

“Is that where that damned family tapestry is? Mother’s still having nightmares about her name being scorched off that piece of fabric. Do you reckon my name’s still on there or that our endearing great aunt has blasted it off when I was born?” With a smirk back at Draco, Tonks set off towards the stairs.

“My bet is that our darling Walburga set the whole thing on fire when you graciously decided to give birth to the spawn of our first cousin once removed.” Catching up to her, he made his way up past the shrunken house-elf heads to the first floor of Grimmauld Place. 

“Ew, when you say it like that I sound like the picture-perfect little Black.” Cackling, she shoved him into the bannister. “Technically she’s bound to adore me. Time to finally meet the old hag.”


	8. 31.10.2002 | After | Ron

When Ron stepped out into the backyard, he took a deep breath. In a stark contrast to the house, the garden was idyllic and peaceful. A sea of bushes and flower beds were in full bloom and the large trees dotted around the property were rustling softly in a magical breeze.

Looking around him, he came to a jerking halt in the middle of a large terrace. Right in front of him was a giant elm tree, its branches sprawling broadly across the lawn and low to the ground. And in its very heart, strung up by branches twisted around her mangled body, was Bellatrix Lestrange. Stepping closer to the crime scene, Ron catalogued different details that were blaring sirens to his honed Auror senses. 

The scarlet robes of his fellow Aurors who were already running diagnostic spells around the tree and the body were grotesquely mirroring the specks of blood across pale lips. Bellatrix’ wand was still clutched in a stiff hand, ready to cast a jinx, a hex, a curse - at this point, only Merlin knew what. But the Walnut wood was cleanly snapped in the middle, its core of dragon heartstring literally holding the two parts together by a string. 

And as broken as her wand were her limbs. 

It must have been one hell of a spell to cause that much destruction to a body. Powerful and deadly, and quicker than the blink of an eye, if the woman’s wide, glassy-eyed stare was anything to go by. 

“You know, at some point in time the wych elm was the most common elm in the North and West of the British Isles.” A soft voice sounded from behind him. “Among botanists the ulmus glabra is acknowledged to be the only indisputably British native elm species. Somehow it’s fitting for a family so crazy about purity to have one of those in their garden.”

“‘Mione… didn’t know they called you in.” Nodding towards his girlfriend, he stepped under the canopy of leaves and branches. 

“It’s ironic. Did you also know that ‘wych’ comes from the Old English ‘wice’ which means pliant or supple. Nothing supple about those branches, if I may be so crude.”

He cut a short glance at her. Her hair was neatly braided even at this hour, so she probably hadn’t made it back to the small flat she shared with Ron’s sister Ginny right off Diagon Alley before having been called to the scene. Her robes were sharply cut, letting her strike an imposing figure in the gloom of the Blacks’ back garden. 

“I’ll never tire of you spouting off random facts no one besides you would ever care to memorize.” Shooting her a small grin, he focused back to the body. “Do you have any idea what spell could do something like that? Make a tree contort itself and squeeze a human to death? And who would do something to a fellow witch?” 

Humming, Hermione turned her back to the tree and let her gaze roam up the face of the building. “I’m not quite sure if it was really a spell. I have a feeling that we’re up against something bigger here. But until I can prove my idea, you got your work cut out for you.”

Ron twisted around to ask her, what she meant when he followed her gaze up the house. And started. He had been warned by his boss that there were twelve suspects - all looking down at them… and the tree. 

On the ground floor, from behind the French doors leading onto the terrace he could hear enraged screaming and barely make out the sickly pale face of Walburga Black. 

From the first floor, the worried faces of Regulus Black-Potter, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, Andromeda and Ted Tonks as well as the Head Auror James Potter were watching the proceedings around the elm tree. 

Starting, Ron took a headcount once more. "Where's Harry?" 

"I don't think it was him if that's what you’re asking. Kingsley found him and Malfoy in Sirius' old bedroom. They were… engaged otherwise." Hermione smirked over to a bay window on the ground floor to where the pale blond hair of Draco and Harry’s wild mane could be seen behind the paned glass. 

Just when Ron was about to seek out the other Aurors present to discuss further procedure, an anguished cry broke through the night. It was followed by the sound of several pairs of heavy boots pounding down the steps of the terrace. 

“Where is my son? What did she do to my son?”


	9. 31.10.2002 | Before | Harry

Before Harry even knew it, he found himself in a gloomy Drawing Room with a tumbler of Firewhiskey in hand. He cast a forlorn look around the room, feeling lost and unsure of himself for the first time in forever. Having grown up with James Potter, Lily Evans-Potter and Regulus Black as his parents, he had a healthy self-confidence and the guilty pleasure of being the centre of attention. 

But as soon as he had stepped into the room, he had the strong urge crawling up his throat to walk right back out again. Backwards and as fast as possible. 

The icy glares from the two women with jetblack hair and an eerie resemblance to both Sirius and his pa had him on edge. The older one had a sickly pallor to her face as if she hadn’t been outside in years. And the younger one had a manic gleam to her eyes that seemed to grow brighter every time she caught his eye. He bet that these were Walburga and Bellatrix.

And then there were the condescending smirks of Lucius and Narcissa aimed in his direction even as they made a show of the polite conversation with his parents. The nerve of these people - he couldn’t wait for all their joint future family holidays.

Their silvery blond hair was gleaming in the low lighting of the Drawing Room and their haughty features paired with an overly aristocratic behaviour made him feel inadequate. He'd always known that Draco and he were not exactly cut from the same cloth what with the Potters being excluded from the Sacred 28 and his adoptive father being disowned from his own pureblood family. 

His parents had always made it a point to ingrain it into him that everyone was equal - wizards, Muggles, Squibs. He had been brought up knowing that concepts like blood purity and slurs like Mudblood and the likes were what was slowly chipping away what was left of the unity among wizarding kind.

And up until now, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. But he hadn't ever been in a situation where he would have fared safer if he was aware of the customs and tells of the elite, because it had never mattered that he was - despite his name and familial relations - only a halfblood in certain people's eyes. 

"What's with the long face, Potter? Not enjoying the worst evening engagement since the Black Dinner of 1440?" An elbow in his side later, he smiled crookedly at Tonks who had materialised next to him. 

"Was I that obvious?" Harry took a sip of his whiskey and enjoyed its burn down his throat. From the corner of his eye he saw Draco slinking into the room and heading straight for Walburga. Show-off with his pureblood training vying for that sodding inheritance. 

"You got everyone's eyes on you and you look like you want to turn tail and run?" Her cackle was for once music to his ears. 

When the rest of the Tonks family made their entrance, Harry used his chance and strategically moved towards the window front of the room and perched himself on a low window sill. He was breathing a little easier now that the attention had been securely drawn to the new arrivals.

Ted Tonks was a fair-haired man, with a mellow and pleasant voice. Someone whose warm laugh and soft figure complimented Andromeda Black with her patrician beauty and aristocratic bearing that were such typical characteristics of the House of Black.

Not only the uncanny physical resemblance to her older sister Bellatrix left Harry feeling unsettled, the icy glares both women shot each other were fearsome. The only difference setting the Black sisters apart was that while Bellatrix was dark-haired and her heavily-lidded eyes sparked maliciously, Andromeda had light brown hair and her eyes were kinder, even while staring down her counterpart. 

The Muggle-born man held his back ramrod straight, not letting it show how unsettled he must be feeling meeting his wife’s family for the first time in about 30 years. A family that hated him for who he was and cut out their own daughter for loving him like an infection. 

Harry was ripped from his musings by a pair of small hands sharply tugging at his robes. 

“Hazza, up!” Looking down, he came face to face with his godson - one adorable Edward Lupin in all of his baby-toothed, bubblegum-blue haired glory. 

A quick look around showed him that the last missing parts of the extended Black family had made their entrance, and an entrance it was. There was Sirius, who looked so much like his brother and the three cousins currently eyeing him with emotions ranging from fondness to annoyance to outright animosity if Bellatrix’ hateful glare was anything to go by. 

Tonight, the former heir of the House of Black wore his inky black hair open, flowing down over his shoulders. His grey eyes twinkled mischievously in the gloom of the Drawing Room, knowing full well that his all of his appearance - from his hands, heavily decorated by a plethora of golden rings, to his ripped skinny jeans, leather jacket, and a merchandise shirt of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” - was designed to make his mother’s thin thread of patience snap. 

Next to his husband, well into his forties but dressed like a rebellious teen, Remus Lupin cut an imposing but comparatively proper figure. Wearing his curse for the world to see with ghastly scars cutting across his face, he faced Walburga Black head on with a tall and proud posture. 

“Teddy! You’re a sight for sore eyes!” He pulled the boy in his lap and cuddled him close. There was nothing more soothing than the soft giggling of the little boy, the calming smell of baby that the toddler had not yet grown out of, and his warm weight in his arms.

He really hoped that he wouldn’t have to wait long for the start of his own little family. Harry sneaked a look over at where Draco was tentatively making introductions to his aunt and uncle. He would have never imagined it during their years at Hogwarts that they spent pranking and antagonising each other, but Draco Malfoy was the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, no matter their different upbringings and ways in life. 

He was still staring at the blond when Draco turned to where Harry still held Teddy cradled in his lap. He caught his eye and aimed a tiny smirk in his direction before turning back to his conversation with the Tonks. A few minutes later he made his excuses and left the Drawing Room with a quick glance back in Harry’s direction. 

Before he knew it, he was scrambling up from the window sill and hoisting Teddy up against his hip. 

“Sorry, little man, I gotta drop you with your dads!” He tried to slow his pace when hurrying across the room towards Remus, unless someone took a little more interest in him than he wanted at the moment. 

The other man just smirked at him when taking Teddy off Harry’s hands and clapped him on the shoulder. He was still willing his blush down when he stepped into the dimly lit hall.


	10. 31.07.1983 | Some Time Ago | Regulus

When Regulus first crashed the idyll that was life at a small cottage in Godric's Hollow all beaten and bloodied, he hadn't really thought it through. All he wanted, what he really needed was his big brother. He would have never thought that it would be the overture to a life he had only dared to imagine for himself on especially lonely summer nights after Sirius had left Grimmauld Place. 

Turns out that three of the four Marauders were currently residing in that small village somewhere in rural England. Apparently the dream couple of their late Hogwarts days, Lily Evans and James Potter, had split up just two years after welcoming their first child into the world. Consequently - and no doubt without being asked, his brother had moved his boyfriend and himself into the guest room to help James raise the child. 

The first few days had felt like a fever dream to Regulus. A good fever dream, but a fever dream nonetheless. 

A feeling of safety permeated the whole cottage. It left him feeling light and loose. There was always a warm cup of tea in his hand, steadily supplied and brewed to perfection by a kindly smiling Remus. There was his brother Sirius, who always found a way to be touching him - gently stroking his hair, linking their pinkies, worming his feet into Regulus’ lap. Then there was of course James, bright and sunny James Potter. Just hearing the other man whistle his favourite song du jour when he bustled around the house made Regulus’ eyes droop, feeling safe enough to fall asleep where he stood. 

And then there was baby Harry. 

More a toddler than a baby really. 

But a joy either way. A joy and a gift to Regulus’ tormented soul. 

“You wead to me?” When the small child with the same dark and unruly hair as his father had clambered up to where Regulus was trying to sink into the sofa cushions, he had felt his heart squeeze painfully. "Pwease?"

And when he had opened up the pages of a well-loved book of fairytales and Harry had wormed his way into his lap to get a better look at the colourful drawings, he had felt a spark of hope take root in his chest. 

“Once upon a time, there was a boy…” 

Almost a year later, Regulus and Harry spent most evenings cuddled up on the plush sofa in the living room, reading “just one more bedtime story, James”. And no matter how welcoming the three Marauders had been since his crash into their idyll, that little boy coming up to him was his tipping point. It was even more than that really. It was his saving grace. 

For the first time in maybe forever, Regulus Black felt loved. 

In turn, he loved with all his heart for the first time as well. Loved little Harry with his giggles and collection of stuffed animals, with his enthusiasm for discovering life. He loved life in Godric’s Hollow, with no worries of taking up too much space or someone losing their temper. Enjoying life without hurt and pain. He loved his brother, the man who exudes so much confidence and inspired the same in Regulus. Loved how Remus loved Sirius and helped his brother heal from old wounds. 

And he had fallen a little in love for the first time as well. He loved this feeling as well.

How could he not when each time he turned in that small cottage, he was met with the blinding smile and kind heart of James Potter. The same smile that greeted him when he woke up on Harry’s third birthday, wrapped up in strong, bronze arms. 

And what more, the smile’s tiny carbon copy was blinding him with its brightness right alongside it.


	11. 31.10.2002 | Before | Harry

Harry stepped out into the dim hall on the first floor and looked around suspiciously. Where could Draco have gone? Up or down the stairs? Further down the hall? Why was this damn house so dark? He couldn’t even see the back wall of the corridor from where he was standing. 

Inching his way towards the staircase, he debated going deeper into this tomb of a house or back down to the ground floor. Before he could even step fully onto the stairs leading down, he heard a soft whistle from above him. Turning on his heel, he rushed upstairs. 

Hopefully that was Draco trying to be funny and not another member of the Black family that no one had warned him about. On the landing of the second and third floors, he took a moment to catch his breath and to keep an ear out for Draco. 

Finally, he had climbed up to the topmost floor. Venturing away from the stairs, he discovered that on this floor, there were only two doors. One of them was marked by a sign: Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. 

Chuckling into the dusty air hanging heavily around him, he reached out towards the doorknob. The house itself and what he had seen of it so far didn't resonate with Harry as a place that his papa had spent any time in, least of all his formative years. The chilling cold woven into the very walls and the depressing dark permeating every tiny piece of number 12 Grimmauld Place was so fundamentally different from what Harry had grown up with. 

Regulus Black-Potter, for as long as Harry had known him, had always been like a warm day in early spring: soothing for your soul, thawing the last of winter’s cold from your very bones, enthusiastic about life, love, and his family. He dealt out hugs and kisses and strokes to the Potters and Lupin-Blacks as if they were going out of style. He would have an open ear for all of Harry’s worries and made sure that he knew how loved he was, always. 

There had been a certain coolness to him at times, Harry would concede to that. But that only came out in Harry’s more unflattering moments during his teenage years, when he thought he was something better and above his peers because of his talent for Quidditch. When he strutted around Hogwarts, a mean jinx or a nasty hex loose on his lips. Or when he played pranks on Slytherin House that toed the line of cruelty. 

“There is no feeling more horrible than feeling unsafe in your own home, just because someone else feels like they are entitled to your misery. Someone is afraid of walking down to the Great Hall for breakfast because of you, Harry. If that knowledge gives you a feeling of power, I have utterly failed you.”

Or when he refused to talk to his mum for weeks because Lily had been on a diplomatic assignment in the Amazonas region and couldn’t make it back in time for his thirteenth birthday. 

“We talk about our feelings, Harry. We try not to bury them, lest they fester and decompose who we are.” 

To this day, Regulus’ disappointment, made apparent in his stoic, unreadable face and cool tone of voice, about Harry’s hormone riddled brain and teenage arrogance hurt more than any loud, ardent dressing down his dad could have ever handed out. 

So standing there in his pa’s former home, he couldn’t help but wonder if that coolness was not something inherently Regulus, but maybe something lingering, festering. Something that had been forcibly made a part of him that he still couldn’t shake even after years away from this house. Surely, Regulus' childhood bedroom would help him piece together the person his second father had been before embracing life with the Potters.

But before he could reach out and push open the mysterious door, the one right behind him creaked ominously open. Casting one last glance at the note still clinging onto the wooden door, he turned to the one that Draco was hopefully lurking behind. If he was honest with himself, he could already hear what his papa would have to say about his near snooping. 

So the other room it was. Slowly making his way through the door, he was met with what had once been a beautiful bedroom. There was a massive bed with an intricately carved wooden headboard, reminding him of his old four-poster bed in Hogwarts. Then there were velvet curtains as well as fine wall hangings and furniture in once bright Gryffindor colours and banners. What Harry was sure to have been Sirius’ old bedroom could have posed as a bedroom fit for royalty. If it weren’t for the numerous posters of Muggle motorbikes and bikini-clad girls and only partially dressed, heavily muscled men. 

Just a second after thinking that Sirius had stayed true to himself and his passions even through adulthood, Harry found himself with his back pressed to the wall. Crowding against him, eagerly sucking at his pulse point and a hand snaking into his dress robes, was Draco.

“Took you long enough!” Teeth against his throat, all Harry could do was whimper and weakly grasp at Draco’s arms. “I knew you would look fucking delectable in those robes but you had to argue of course.”

Plush but urgent lips opened his own up for a deep kiss, tongues stroking against each other, chasing shivers up and down Harry’s spine. Before he had even a chance at gathering his bearings, the blond man had opened the silver clasps keeping his robes in place. They fell open with a soft rustle and left his chest exposed to the chill air of the room. A moment later, he could feel his trousers loosening and fall around his knees. 

“When you stood there, all proper and shy, I just wanted to mess you up. And the way you lit up when Teddy came to you, you’re so beautiful! I wanted to shout it in their sodding faces that we’re together.” A trail of kisses marked Draco’s descent from lips to pert nipples, across the trail of hair leading down to his destination. 

A tight, warm heat wrapped around his cock, wetting the soft skin deliciously. Moaning, he finally managed to make his hands obey him again, only to card them into Draco’s blond tresses. From there, it was utter mayhem. His fiance was pulling out all of Harry’s favourites: A teasing nibble to the weeping tip. A clever tongue running up and down the pulsing vein along his cock. Elegant fingers cradling his balls and stroking carefully at his perineum. 

When Draco swallowed him down to the root, regal nose pressed into the dark curls at the base of his dick, all Harry could do was cry out. Curling over Draco, he clutched desperately at his shoulders, his strong back. Feeling the other man’s tight throat constrict around his cockhead forcefully had Harry coming for what seemed like an eternity.

He was only vaguely aware of Drace propping him back up against the wall and crowding close once again. Soft groans were whispered directly into his ear while the former Slytherin furiously tugged at his own dick until he came across Harry’s groin, their come running together. 

Harry weakly cupped a hand around a pale cheek and leaned in for a searing kiss. Distractedly, he waved a hand over himself with a quick cleaning spell. And just when Draco had helped him make up his dress robes again when a shrill ringing sound was ripping through the house. It made Harry jump violently and bump his head against the wall. 

Chuckling, Draco reached up and rubbed the sore spot beneath Harry’s locks. “Guess that was the subtle hint that dinner is about to be served. We better get down to the Dining Room.”


	12. 16.10.1993 | Some Time Ago | James

James was brimming with excitement since the early morning hours. They would get to watch Harry's first Quidditch match of the season today and he couldn’t be prouder. Wriggling closer to his husband under the warm sheets, he silently debated with himself: Should he just get up and make a quick breakfast so that they could rush off to Hogwarts as soon as possible? Or should he make the most of his first free day in weeks and dedicate himself to some of his husbandly duties first? Since he’s been in the running for Deputy Head Auror, it felt like he hadn’t spent much time at home, let alone with Regulus at all. 

In the end, the choice wasn’t his.

“I can hear you thinking, darling,” Warm, grey eyes blinked up at him sleepily before a sure hand wound itself into his unruly bedhead to pull him closer still. "Don't even think about starting something you can’t bring to an end." 

He forced a shocked gasp into the miniscule space between them. "When have I ever left you hanging?" 

"For example last night when you fell asleep after just a bit of necking?" Regulus’ smirk made him shiver even in the toasty warm embrace of their sheets. "You may atone for your sins tonight. I do crave a good shag after all those lonely nights last month." 

He felt heat crawling up the back of his neck and he couldn’t help but snake a hand up to his husband's waist, trying to pull him closer. Right this moment, he needed to feel that smooth alabaster skin pressed against his own, Quidditch be damned. That was why the pillow that came flying at him could sock him right in the face. 

“Nah, mister. We are not going down that road, not until tonight when there is no metaphorical Snitch hovering right above my head while you’re drilling into me.” Ripping the warm sheets away, Regulus got up abruptly. “I like celebratory sex the best, anyway.”

“Celebratory for whom? Slytherin or Gryffindor?” James watched his husband walk into the bathroom with a smirk. It had been ten years, but he was still as in love with the little Black as he had been back then. 

“I don’t do House rivalry anymore. I’m only cheering for my son who is incidentally the most talented Seeker Gryffindor had the honour of having since its foundation.” The wink Regulus aimed back at their marital bed was all Slytherin, though. 

* 

It was a few hours later when they made their way through the gates of Hogwarts and trekked down to the Quidditch pitch, where the student body was already firing up the atmosphere. They had picked up Sirius and Remus on their way up to Scotland and James couldn’t wait for the whole family to get a little bit of time together with Harry after the game. Breathing in deeply, he felt himself transported back to similar days in early autumn, but an eternity ago.

They had just found themselves some seats in the visitors stands, right next to the goal posts of the Gryffindor team, when he heard a voice he could have gladly passed on today. 

“Well, well. If that isn’t the illustrious, codependent Black brothers and their little pets. Here to see the little Potter lose spectacularly?” The silvery blond head of Lucius Malfoy promptly took up James’ few of the pitch. 

If that dig against Sirius and Regulus hadn’t come from the pompous arse, James maybe would have laughed. Because who would have thought after seeing them during their time at Hogwarts that the brothers wouldn’t even last two days without seeing each other. Even if it was just to trade a barb or two and then go their separate ways. James loved that for them. 

The brothers resembled each other so much, that people sometimes mistook them for twins. With their black hair, that both of them wore long, by now way past their shoulders, and their haughty good looks, they were striking. Even if Sirius had always claimed that his little brother was absolutely smaller, slighter, and - not to forget - less handsome than Sirius himself, James had to confess that his best friend was way off. In his eyes, Regulus’ beauty surpassed his older brother by far.  
But while James had gone on a mental tangent, he had missed the entrance of two more people his day did not necessarily need in it. 

Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Black.

“Aww, it’s little Reggie and dumb-dumb Siri!” Cackling, Bellatrix climbed the steps to where their seats were with deadly grace. 

He felt Regulus go rigid next to him, a faint tremor running up his leg where it was pressed up against James. Winding an inconspicuous arm around his husband, he moved his body between his partner and the woman, willing the Malfoys to take their leave as soon as possible. Fixing his most intimidating glare on a viciously grinning Bellatrix, he risked a glance at Regulus. 

His facial expressions were frozen in panicked horror. His eyes were wide open, glassy and unseeing. His lips were pressed tightly together, cheeks sunken and hollow. He could see his teeth grinding together hard. 

James had always suspected that there was a story there, even when Regulus first came to Godric’s Hollow. He wasn’t in the Auror force for nothing and the way the younger Black had looked that evening, he had always been sure that some sort of sexual assault must have occured. And he had always suspected Bellatrix to have been involved, seeing as Reg had visceral reactions each time the woman was mentioned. 

But Regulus had never confided in him and as far as he knew, Sirius also had only suspicions but no confirmation. The only reason he had never pressed the issue - aside from Regulus being his own man and did not come to Godric’s Hollow to be under someone else’s rule once more - was that as soon as his body had healed, Regulus had gotten professional help. 

James couldn’t be prouder. The proud, mislead pureblood boy from his teenage years had come so far - he had been going to Muggle therapy since back then, reclaiming himself each day anew and leaving his former family’s opinions and world views behind. 

So James turned his head to the woman who tried to destroy the love of his life and laid all his anger and disgust at her in his voice: “Leave us alone or I can’t be held responsible for what I’ll do to you.”


	13. 31.10.2002 | Before | Sirius

Sirius loathed being back at 12 Grimmauld Place, to breathe that musty, oppressing air hanging heavy between dusty drapes and wallpaper full of bad memories. If he’d had to take a trip down memory lane within these walls it would be like: Broken ankle thanks to a tripping jinx down the stairs from the first floor landing. Laceration on his forehead thanks to breaking down under a Cruciatus in the sitting room on the third floor. A torn ligament thanks to a Tarantallegra because it had been a boring week. All courtesy of his dear, loving mother. 

Especially the dining room with its long wooden table and the tableware with the Black family crest on each plate and bowl and the low hanging lights fixtures held its fair share of nightmares. He did not care to relive those anytime soon.

Clutching the warm little body of Teddy closer to him, he took his place at the end of the table, studiously ignoring the glares his mother shot across the table at him. As if he would hand over his son to the house-elf because the old hag claimed that children had no place in proper evening society. Also, Kreacher had always hated him. He definitely wouldn’t trust him with his son. 

He glanced around the table and couldn’t suppress a smirk. On his right, there was Remus, who in turn was flanked by a laid-back Tonks. Next to her was Andromeda, hands clenched tightly in her lap and face drawn. Seated on her right side was her husband Ted, looking for all the world as if he was perfectly at ease in a house with at least three people ready to shoot an Unforgivable at him. Sirius respected the hell out of the man. 

On the left side of the table the Potters sat arranged like organ pipes from Harry right next to him, then Regulus to James. He could see that James' hand rested on Regulus’ knee, squeezing every other moment to reassure him. Regulus was decidedly not looking up to the head of the table where Walburga herself was holding court. She sat flanked by the remaining Black sisters on the one side and Lucius and his progeny on the other.

“Dear members of the Ancient and most Noble House of Black and dear spouses! And… everyone I would not have made part of this most noble family voluntarily, but you ungrateful little blood-traitors left me no choice. Welcome on this fine Samhain eve.” Raising her glass at the gathered Blacks and Black-adjacents, a cruel smile twisted her haughty features. “But Number 12 Grimmauld Place has deemed you worthy of being here tonight and I will bend to the old ways of my fathers.”

Right on cue, the entrees appeared before them. Sirius rolled his eyes. Tiny bits of lamb with the meat so raw that the juices were oozing out onto the plate. At least Remus would get a kick out of that seeing as the full moon coming up in a few days. Sirius for his part would need a midnight run to McDonald’s and he’d bet his leather jacket that James was up for it as well. At least if his less than pleased expression was anything to go by. 

“So, Mother. Care to explain why we are forced to enjoy this particular form of torture? I had actually hoped that you’d already dropped dead sometime in the last 20 years.” Challenging her across the table with a cocky smirk and by letting Teddy stick his finger into the pink meat, he geared up for maybe a hex or jinx being thrown his way in the next two minutes. 

Dabbing her lips delicately with a satin napkin, Walburga did not take his bait. Huh, maybe he had gotten a bit rusty after being genuinely happy for so long. 

“Seeing as both my ungrateful sons, stains of dishonour really the both of you, were removed from the direct succession, the familial magic has run into some issues.”

He had to snort at that: “Issues my arse.”  
Continuing as if he hadn’t spoken, Walburga sniffed haughtily. 

“The Ancient and most Noble House of Black has deemed it fit that the house of my forefathers, Number 12 Grimmauld Place will settle the succession and choose its one, true heir for good. All Blacks by blood as well as their progeny are eligible, even the filthy half-breeds.”

Barking a rough laugh, Sirius sneered across the table at Walburga: “So after all the trouble you went through by blasting us off the family tree, the bloody house doesn’t regard us as disinherited? That’s bloody brilliant!” 

The rest of the room had fallen into a deadly silence.


	14. 31.10.2002 | After | Hermione

Utter mayhem had broken loose when Sirius Black had burst into the garden, screaming and yelling. He was followed closely by Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, both of them just as panicked and ready to throw accusations and curses. All three of them seemed decidedly unbothered by the body hanging in the elm tree.

It might have been because of their missing son. But maybe they had already seen the body from up close, had even put it there. Who was to know with circumstances like these?

While the Aurors dispersed, spreading out into the garden and the upper floors of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione Granger went her own ways. Unbeknownst to the scarlet robes crawling the place and even her boyfriend, investigating lead Auror on the case, she was downright brimming with excitement. It took all of her stubborness and willpower to keep a calm facade in the face of the murder and now a missing child. 

But she had spent years studying pureblood traditions and customs, trying to use her insights for policies brought in front of the Wizengamot to unite wizarding kind and abolish elitism and racism in the magical community. Know thy enemy and so on. 

To be brought in as a consulting expert in a house like Number 12 Grimmauld Place was the jackpot for every researcher on pureblood society. The place was reeking of dark magic, blood curses, and all that other fun stuff. She was having a field day just mapping the atmosphere and magical imprints all around her. 

To make herself useful in the best way she knew how, she made her way back into the entry hall. The heart of an old pureblood home was the hearth, like in any old Muggle dwelling. So superior to the lowly people without magic, but still so similar to them. She followed a set of narrow stone stairs down into the basement and the house’s kitchen. 

Even at first glance, she saw that it was decidedly less ornate than even the entry hall but it had the same gloomy feeling to it. The kitchen was large, bordering on cavernous, and housed a large fireplace at the far end. There were iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling above her. In the centre of the room sat a long wooden table, large enough to fit a couple dozen people at once around it. She bet on there being a mirroring one somewhere above her in a pompous dining room so that meals could be delivered directly from the kitchen to the plate like it was done at Hogwarts. 

She was making her way deeper into the basement, when she could hear a soft murmuring. Twisting around, Hermione tried to pinpoint from where the voices were coming from. Was there someone else down there that the Aurors didn’t know about? Drawing her wand, she tiptoed closer to the fireplace, when her eyes fell onto a wooden door leading back out of the kitchen.

And that’s where the murmurs were coming from. Slinking closer still, she tried to make out what was being said. 

"Master Teddy is being safe now, Kreacher promises! Mistress Bellatrix is not being coming back. Master Teddy can be smiling and happy again, please!" The door creaked open a little when someone moved behind it. Soft crying filtered out into the kitchen and Hermione hurried over quickly. 

“Teddy, is that you? It’s Hermione, uncle Harry’s friend!” She pulled the door open hurriedly and came across a very peculiar scene. 

Behind the door was a dark pantry, just large enough for two people to stand in comfortably between the shelves running along the walls. Safely enclosed in the small space a house-elf sat propped up against the lowest row of shelving. The elf had a bulbous, snout-like nose and slightly bloodshot eyes. The many folds of skin wrinkling around his gaunt face, the shabby tea towel wrapped around its scrawny body that was only hanging on by a thread, and the white hair growing out of bat-like ears let Hermione assume that this was an especially old elf, possibly in the family’s possession for more than a century. 

But cradled in its spindly arms and sitting in its lap was the child everyone in the house was looking for right now. Little Teddy Lupin had tears running down his red, splotchy face. Mighty sobs were wracking his small frame between bouts of heavy sniffling. But his tiny fingers were securely twisted in the house-elf’s tea towel, looking at ease aside from the heartbreaking crying. 

“Kreacher has taken good care of Master Teddy. Kreacher does not like the look of the Mudblood mistress, standing there bold as brass, looking like Kreacher did wrong. But Kreacher has taken Master Teddy away from there, has not let him look!”

That made Hermione pause. Had Teddy been out there when Bellatrix had been attacked? Was this Kreacher implicating himself?

“That’s great, Kreacher. Thank you for caring for Teddy!” She tried to appear as unthreatening as possible, smiling soothingly down at the child and the elf while cowering down a bit so she wasn’t towering up above them as much. “Everyone is searching for Teddy right now, Kreacher. Would the two of you mind coming back upstairs with me?” 

The house-elf was still eying her suspiciously, but slowly got to his feet with Teddy still in his arms. His appearance was definitely deceiving. Although Kreacher looked frail and near geriatric, he didn’t seem to notice the considerable weight of the sniffling toddler hanging on to him. 

“Kreacher will bring Master Teddy to Master’s fathers. Kreacher will Master Teddy not let be getting hurt, Kreacher swears by the Noble and most Ancient House of Black.”

They had barely made it up the stairs to the entry hall when Sirius Black came charging at them with a broken cry and ripped Teddy out of Kreacher’s hold.

With barely suppressed grumbling, the house-elf slinked back down to the kitchen.


	15. 31.10.2002 | After | Ron

"Blood traitors, abominations, shame of my flesh!" A screeching Walburga Black was escorted up the stairs by Kingsley Shaklebolt, ever the stoic in the face of deranged anger. "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers!" 

They had all the suspects rounded up in the Drawing Room on the first floor. Ron suppressed a snort at the pretentiousness of even having a drawing room. Even without knowing the wild mix of people present tonight, it was clear which family members were on speaking terms and which one despised the others by the way they split up to occupy the two opposing sofas in the middle of the large room.

The exquisite room was lavishly decorated, with large windows that overlooked Grimmauld Place in front of the house. Even though there was a bright fire crackling in the large fireplace, the room was still chilly. Two ornate glass-fronted cabinets flanked the fireplace and Ron was tempted to take a closer look at the obscure tidbits inside them. 

But what really caught his eye in the room was the wall at the far side of the Drawing Room. The entirety of it was covered by a tapestry, depicting a huge tree with widely sprawling branches. 

"Let me introduce you to the pride and joy of the Black family: our family tree, lovingly curated by my dear mother." Sirius stepped closer to where Ron was tracing the tree trunk with the tip of his wand. He had the little boy tightly held against his chest, not daring to let Teddy get lost in the abyss of their ancestral home. The small boy was still sniffling every now and then, but the stress and excitement of the night had him exhaustedly resting against his father’s chest.

A hissed curse, aimed at the pair seemingly out of nowhere, was easily deflected with a flick of his wrist without even jostling the dozing child. 

"Blood traitor, don’t you dare besmirch my fathers' honour and legacy!" 

"Shut your mouth, old hag!" A silencing spell later, the enraged hisses stopped. 

"I'll pretend that you did not just do that, Deputy Head Auror Black." Ron allowed himself a tiny smirk. "Makes you even more a person of interest seeing as you’ve just hexed your own mother and all that."

Snorting, Sirius slipped his wand back into his sleeve. "Believe me when I say that hexes are the only language that this woman understands. Also, wouldn’t want to make your investigation too easy, now would we?" 

Sometimes Ron seriously wondered how Sirius Black could have ever made it to Deputy Head Auror. The man had a decidedly too easy-going nature at times. 

“Anyway, take notes, Auror Weasley. As I was saying, that ugly tapestry depicts the Black family tree and all the well-behaved little purebloods who stuck to the rules and stayed toujours pur. Everyone else gets blasted off the tapestry by dear ol’ Walburga.” 

He sent a condescending glance back at where the older woman was still silently screaming, no matter Kingsley’s efforts at calming her down.

“First rule of being a Black is: Don’t be a Squib. Secondly, don’t be a blood traitor. That’s what got me burned off. Also, she never did like me in general. Third rule is to never marry below your station or rather anyone below your blood status. That one broke Andromeda’s neck. Funnily, the tapestry updates itself without following those rules. So Ted and Dora had to be blasted off as well. Only ones up there still are Narcissa, Lucius and Draco now that Bellatrix kicked the bucket.”

Ron cast a glance back at where the Tonks family sat huddled together, talking softly among themselves. He had never cared for the blood statuses of his fellow Aurors, but he also couldn’t imagine Tonks ever bowing down to something like a family motto. Except the motto was “be as weird as you possibly can be” maybe.

“And if you want to get some Black brownie points, you keep it in the family. My dear parents were second cousins for instance. I mean, who even cares about inbreeding when you can have generations plagued with low fertility and emotional instability?”

Now that was actually something that had to be considered in their investigation. Ron looked at the other man imploringly: "I'm sorry, Sirius, but I have to ask this: Does anyone in your family that is present tonight suffer from mental illness?" 

"I wouldn't exactly call it suffering. We all seem to enjoy it," snorting he adjusted Teddy on his hip so the toddler rested more comfortably. "You know, I've been going to therapy actually to help me with that. Muggle therapy, that is. But how do you explain that the physical abuse you suffered in your childhood included curses so dark that the wizarding world at large banned them from use?" 

Both men regarded each other calmly. Ron would never be able to imagine the horrors of growing up like that. He took a moment to be thankful for Molly and Arthur’s rather slack approach to pureblood traditions and upbringing. But it also opened up a whole new can of worms for this case.

“Then was there any discord between the members of your family at the moment? Would anyone want to hurt Bellatrix? Would you describe your family as dysfunctional?”

Another rough laugh forced itself out of Sirius. “Dysfunctional family implies that we still function in some capacity. I don’t consider half of these people here family. Whoever did Bellatrix in did all of us a favour. That cunt had it coming and I should have done away with her years ago.”

The wolfish grin aimed his way made unease settle low in Ron’s stomach.


	16. 31.10.2002 | Before | Draco

A deafening silence rang about in the Dining Room then after Sirius' declaration.

"So after all the trouble you went through by blasting us off the family tree, the bloody house doesn’t regard us as disinherited? That’s bloody brilliant!” 

And Draco had to give the older man that: It was bloody brilliant. It narrowed down the chances of himself being declared the heir of House Black, of course. Because realistically, only five minutes in the past, the only eligible people would have been his mother, aunt Bella, and Draco. Seeing as everyone else had been burned off the family tree.

Draco would have chimed in with Sirius' cackling, oddly reminiscent of a dog's bark, if properness hadn't been instilled into him by his mother's strict hand. A Malfoy did not lose his composure even in the face of the utter madness that was Black inheritance law. 

"But auntie Walburga, surely there must be a mistake. As if half-breeds and blood traitors could be even considered worthy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!" An affected giggle sliced through the quiet room as Bellatrix rose to speak.

Walburga took a sip from her wine then. “The family magic will run its course. By the end of the night, we will be made aware by the House who will lead our family into a glorious future.”

"If I have to remind you all, dear Dromeda refused a proper pureblood marriage just to be with that Mudblood right here and I really cannot begin to imagine why." A sudden coldness descended over the room then.

Draco could see how Andromeda had already drawn her wand, holding it clenched tightly and ready to cast at any moment. Would have already done so, if it wasn't for Ted Tonks' broad hand wrapped securely around her thin wrist and a soothing thumb rubbing across her pulse point. The big man leaned in close to his wife, whispering into her ear.  
Draco would bet that he could make something along the lines of “none of them worth it” and “don’t stoop so low”. Bellatrix may not be able to see why Andromeda had forsaken her family for this man, but he had a pretty good idea just by watching them for a few minutes. 

He had also gotten to know Tonks over the last few years when he had tended to her injuries sustained in the line of Auror duty. She was an amazing woman overall - funny, smart, and loyal to a fault. She loved her parents deeply despite her ongoing grudge against her mother because of the whole first name affair. And even if they weren’t exactly friends and neither would consider the other as close family yet, he could absolutely see them getting there. 

“And then,” Bellatrix continued with an ugly sneer down the table, taking a deep drink from her wine glass. “their half-blood daughter goes and gets herself pregnant by the werewolf creature Sirius dares to call his husband. I don’t have to remind you what an incredible failure the scion of House of Black had turned out to be.”

The glass burst apart where Bellatrix had it cradled in a claw-like hand, spilling deep red wine across the pure white table cloth like blood. Seeping into it, running across the table and only stopping just short of Draco’s place setting. Splinters of glass shot wildly in all directions, some also embedding themselves in Bellatrix’ pale cheeks. 

There were startled shouts and bitten of curses and the crying of little Teddy Lupin. Draco could feel the tension rising even still and slowly let his wand slip down from its holster and into his hand. He cast a worried glance down the table at Harry, whose face was frozen in appalled shock. Teddy was cradled against Remus’ chest now, face hidden away in the folds of his father’s robes. 

“It’s called surrogacy, you nasty cunt. It’s when one consenting adult agrees to donate an egg cell and to carry a baby for a party of other consenting adults.” Sirius had risen from his seat and held his wand trained at Bellatrix who was curiously tapping her injured cheek.”It’s a Muggle concept so you wouldn’t know about it. All you despicable excuse for a human being knows is how to rape someone to get pregnant. As if someone as rotten and dead inside as you would even be able to carry a child.”

“Sirius!” Before the man had even finished his tirade, Regulus had sprung to his feet. He cast a wild, betrayed glance at his brother before fleeing out of the Dining Room with the double wing door banging open with a crash. James Potter was halfway to his feet, ready to run after his husband, face burning with righteous fury. Fury that was sudden and unsuspected and wild and directed at Bellatrix. 

“You did what? You dared to lay a hand on him?” The Head Auror had his wand pointed at a sneering Bellatrix as well now. “Not my husband, you bitch!”

Draco couldn’t believe what was happening around him. He hadn’t ever held Bellatrix in high regards. She had always seemed volatile and just this side of cruel towards anyone not family. But for her to do the unspeakable, to assault her cousin… 

But a glance at his mother’s stricken face told him that it was not empty assumptions or lies that Sirius was airing out. And to think that Regulus was forced to be in her presence tonight. Did Harry and James know about it? A glance in the furious face of the older Potter and Harry’s bright green eyes, brimming with tears and staring unseeingly at the table, confirmed his suspicions that they hadn’t heard about this before. 

Tightening his grip around his own wand, he rathered erred on the safe side. If curses started flying, he was ready to react. 

It was then that Bellatrix geared up for the killing blow. Leaning back into her chair as if she did not have a care in the world., his aunt shot a malicious smile across the table at Harry. 

"Well, maybe I should offer my services to Regulus’ little boy then. As an apology of sorts for ever even looking at him the wrong way.” Snorting, she reached over and grabbed Narcissa’s full glass of wine, downing it at once. “Because I hear congratulations are in order. Or at least the tapestry seems to think that the little Potter is engaged to our dear Draco.” 

Deadly silence descended at once over the table once more. Everyone was staring at them and Draco could see how Harry was starting to hyperventilate. This was not how they had planned to tell their families. Their love was something beautiful and pure and for it to be twisted into something they should be ashamed of… 

Draco got to his feet then, casting a hateful glance at his aunt, he strode down the long dining table. He ignored everyone around him, brushing off his father’s hand reaching for him, and had his eyes fixed on Harry, who was still frozen in panicked fear and unable to look at his own dad or uncles. When he got to the raven haired man, he wound an arm around his softly trembling shoulders and helped him to his feet with a soft kiss pressed to the dark locks. 

He entwined their fingers and led them out of that godforsaken room. Behind them, chaos broke loose. Draco could hear tableware breaking, screaming and shouting. Thumping steps were sounding behind them, but he didn’t allow himself to be deterred from getting Harry as far away from it all as possible. 

And above all the uproar he could hear great aunt screeching: “The family magic will run its course!” 

Pulling his boyfriend along, he didn’t stop until they had climbed the stairs back up to Sirius’ old bedroom. He pushed a shell-shocked Harry down onto the bed and followed him down until he had himself wrapped around his trembling form. 

“It’s okay, shh, Haz. It’s okay. I’m here, everything’s going to be okay.”


	17. 31.10.2002 | After | Hermione

Hermione had gone back to the heart of the house, in parts because it was the only room not crawling with Aurors and she needed to think. And also because the only one who could be able to help her was down there as well. 

Inching into the dimly lit kitchen, Hermione knocked onto the heavy door to announce herself. 

“Kreacher? Excuse me?” As Hermione stepped closer to the long table winding down the room, she heard another one of those creaking sounds that seemed to haunt the kitchen. Looking around, she spotted a cupboard door hanging open a little bit. Soft muttering could be heard coming from there.

“Kreacher, are you there?” Making her steps fall heavily onto the floor to give the house-elf some warning, Hermione slowly made her way over to the cupboard. “I was wondering if you could help me with something? Could you answer me a few questions about what happened tonight?”

“The Mudblood mistress is asking for Kreacher. Asking for Kreacher to help her.” The cupboard was creaking open some more until large, spherical eyes were glowering at her across the dimness permeating the room. “Mistress Walburga wouldn’t want Kreacher to be helping the woman. Wouldn’t want the filth in the kitchen, the house.”

Hermione caught a glimpse of the cupboard from behind the house-elf. Most of the space inside was taken up by a large boiler. But the tiny room left seemed to be Kreacher’s den. There were rags and dirty blankets, crammed together and permeating the air with a sultry smell. 

Kreacher eyed her suspiciously: “Mistress Walburga would forbid Kreacher talking to the Mudblood… but Master Teddy would want Kreacher to help. Kreacher will keep Master Teddy safe, nothing will ever again hurt Master Teddy.”

“Why do you keep calling Teddy your master, Kreacher? And what do you mean he has been hurt?” Hermione could hear herself getting pushy, but she needed answers and she needed them as soon as possible. Who knew what the assorted Black clan would get up to if they were locked into one room for too long. 

“Why Kreacher is calling Master Teddy his master the Mudblood asks.” Kreacher snorted condescendingly at her from his cupboard.

Hermione let the slur roll off her back like rain down an Impervius charm. She had been desensitized to the term of abuse, seeing her line of work. When researching and unravelling pureblood culture one custom at a time, you inevitably run into bigotry and racism and their various despicable forms of expressions. 

And as much as Ron and Harry and a whole lot of colleagues in the Ministry told her to not let herself be spoken to like that, she knew when to pick her battles. She was the brightest witch of her generation, even as a Muggle-born she had a feeling and understanding for magic unlike most who had grown up surrounded by it. Let them call her a Mudblood if it made them feel safer around her, trying to belittle her. She would come out on top in the end, that she was sure of.

So Kreacher’s excessive use of the slur really paled in comparison to some members of the Wizengamot calling her the same behind her back. But she would show those old sods just as she would the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black tonight. 

“Kreacher will be telling the Mudblood what she wants to know, yes he will, for the sake of Master Teddy.” The door of the cupboard creaked open all the way and the house-elf’s spindly legs dangled out. “Kreacher is serving the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for a century, Kreacher has been a loyal elf, Kreacher is earning his place on the wall, Kreacher is!” 

Hermione made herself listen closely, cataloguing every muttered half-sentence and mentally categorizing every bit on her mind map of what she had previously researched on the Black family. If someone knew what happens in a home, it is “the help” as elitist circles like to call it - she didn’t have to be an Auror to know that. 

“Kreacher is knowing that Master Teddy is being the new Master of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black as soon as Master Teddy enters Grimmauld Place. The family magic is deciding right then.” Kreacher was wringing his hands and pacing along the long table. “Kreacher is being a part of Grimmauld Place for a long time. Kreacher recognizes Master Teddy as his new master right then. And then Master Teddy is running from the fighting and screaming in the Dining Room and out in the garden.” 

Kreacher turned to Hermione then, big eyes imploring. 

“Master Teddy is being distraught and Kreacher is going after him to be helping him and then mistress Bellatrix is there as Kreacher is just getting to the garden. Mistress Bellatrix is knowing who Master Teddy is! Mistress Bellatrix is scaring Master Teddy, is saying she is being correcting a grievous mistake." 

Kreacher shuddered then, a violent tremor running up and down his skinny frame.

"She is raising her wand and already saying the Avada and Master Teddy is crying and Kreacher is not being fast enough!" Kreacher twisted around to face Hermione then, gripping at her robes. "And then the elm tree is waking up from its slumber!"

*

When she stormed into the Drawing Room, Ron was still interviewing Sirius behind a Muffliato. The rest of the Black family was either sitting at the two big couches in the middle of the room or were interviewed by other Aurors. 

She cast a quick Sonorus on herself, strong enough for it to pierce the soundproof bubbles of the Muffliatos engaged around the room.

“I know what happened. I know how Bellatrix Black was killed!” 

It had the desired effect. 

Within seconds, she held the room’s complete attention. 

“It was Number 12 Grimmauld Place.” 

“Filthy Mudblood, how dare you besmirch the house of my fathers with your lies?” Walburga Black screeched at her declaration, trying to launch herself forward at her. 

A quick Petrificus Totalus from Ron’s wand left her incapacitated before she even made it a step. Turning back to Hermione, he frowned at her.

“Do you mean the house did it? How is that even possible?” Exchanging wary glances with his fellow Aurors, Ron stepped closer. She could see the gathered Black family lean closer to her as well. Even the likes of Lucius Malfoy, who wouldn’t be caught dead voting in favour of her appeals in the Wizengamot. 

"It's old family magic, deeply embedded in the foundations of Grimmauld Place. And when the heir of the House of Black was threatened with certain death, the elm tree was awoken to rescue the heir from a Killing Curse. A Killing Curse about to be cast by Bellatrix Black, I might add." Hermione stood straight and proud in the midst of one of the oldest pureblood families in England. 

"The heir? But the heir hadn't been declared then, still hasn't been yet!" Sirius had sprung to his feet as if to advance at her. 

Hermione allowed herself a tiny smirk. She loved being in the know and figuring mysteries out. "Just because it hasn't been declared yet doesn’t mean it hasn't already been identified." 

She looked around the room then, at Kingsley Shaklebolt helping a disheveld and darkly glowering Walburga back to her feet, the dethroned matriarch of the Black family. 

She considered the Tonks family, Andromeda, Ted, and Nymphadora - sitting close together. She eyed Nymphadora in particular, how she was exchanging worried glances with her Auror colleagues, not used to being on the receiving end of an interrogation. 

Then there were the Malfoys, Lucius and Narcissa: So used to their privilege and being treated preferentially but never held accountable for anything. Being held under suspicion of murder or even fratricide without a way to buy their way out of Grimmauld Place must have come as a shock. 

And then there was Draco. Staring back at her defiantly and clutching Harry's hands between his own, ready to fight for his love even if he didn't know what or who he would be fighting against. At least this relationship would be strengthened by tonight's events. 

Then there was Harry, green eyes still red-rimmed, curled into Draco, and his father's hand resting heavily on his shoulder. She catalogued the Potters next. The way that James was gripping his son and holding his husband tightly against his chest. Daring anyone to accuse the Head Auror's family. His stoic gaze tracking everyone in the room just as Hermione had been doing, but finely honed by his decades on the Auror force. 

And then there was Regulus Potter, née Black, burrowed into his husband as if trying to sink into him, to disappear from this room, this house. His face was drawn and worryingly pale, but eyes bright with what could be relief by a heavy burden lifted.   
And last but not least she turned towards the Lupin-Blacks with Sirius standing watch over husband and son like a guard dog. Remus was holding Teddy securely in his lap, still unaware of his child's destiny and future.   
And Teddy himself, little Teddy with his ever changing colourful hair and bright smile who was tiredly blinking away, tucked away safely in his father's arms.   
"Congratulations, Edward Remus Lupin-Black. The family magic has chosen you as the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!"


	18. 31.10.2002 | When it happened | Teddy

When the screaming had started for real, Teddy had wiggled down from his papa’s arms. He didn’t like the screaming and there were things breaking and he wanted everyone to get along again. 

No one was paying attention to him and his dads were busy shooting brightly coloured spells from their wands. But they weren’t fun spells. He could feel the magic sizzling in the air, could taste the intent to hurt on the back of his tongue. 

And it scared Teddy. He had never seen uncle James so angry. Or Harry so scared. Or uncle Regulus so sad. 

Where was uncle Regulus? He hadn’t come back, maybe he was scared of the spells and screaming as well? Teddy could go looking for him and maybe together it wouldn’t be as scary.

He snuck out into the hallway, ducking along the walls to avoid being caught. He didn’t like the darkness lingering all around, stubbornly clinging to the corners despite the candles burning prettily along the walls. 

Teddy made his way along the hallway and came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. His dad had carried him up the staircase when they arrived but he didn’t dare climb them by himself. The scary elf heads were staring down at him and made him feel yucky.

Looking around insecurely, he spotted a glass door at the very end of the hallway, standing slightly open and letting in a cool breeze. Maybe uncle Regulus had gone there?

Making his way through the door, he stopped in wonder: It led out onto a terrace overlooking a beautiful garden with tall trees towering high above Teddy's head.

He was wandering closer to the edge of the terrace, completely entranced by the magnificent nature all around him. He was about to head for one of the trees when a shadow, even darker than the night around him, rose behind him.

"You despicable little creature! Werewolf filth and half-blood abomination! As if something as vile as you could ever be a part of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, let alone be its heir!" The scary aunt stood menacingly behind Teddy all of a sudden. 

He hadn't heard her coming after him, how could he have not heard her? She was advancing on him now with her wand raised and Teddy was scrambling backwards, trying to get away from her. He was scared, deeply afraid of her, and he couldn’t help but cry out in a panic, tears streaming down his cheeks uncontrollably. 

"I will right this mistake, I will rid this family of the stain that is your very existence! Avada-" There was green tinted magic gathering at the tip of her wand, malice pouring out into the ever decreasing spice between them. 

Teddy had been sobbing, falling down on his bum in his haste to get away, just away from the scary lady, crying out for help… when help came from the most unlikely of places.

The big, beautiful tree that he had admired before shook itself awake from his roots to the very tips of his leaves. And before the darkest of magic could be unleashed by the spell, the tree's branches reached out after the woman with the crazy eyes, choking her off. Lifting up her body in an eerie dance of leaves and branches to the sounds of foliage rustling, bark groaning, and bones breaking. 

But Teddy was safe. 

And just a second later he was cradled in his house-elf's arms to be carried away from the tree and back into the innards of his house.


	19. 01.11.2002 | (Happily Ever) After | Harry

Stepping out onto the front steps that generations of Blacks had worn down for centuries, Harry wound his fingers tightly between Draco’s. The morning sun was shining bright into his eyes, burning off the dimness and shadows still clinging to him.

Breathing in deeply, he let the sounds of the city awakening from its slumber and their family hurrying out of the house behind them surround him. When they reached the street, he turned on his heels and looked back one last time at where Number 12 Grimmauld Place vanished into nothingness between numbers 11 and 13. 

Draco turned to him then and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Ready to go home?”

Nodding at the other man, Harry twisted into a Side-Along Apparition to bring them to the other side of London. To a flat that they would share hopefully not too far into the future. He was more than ready to leave that night behind him. And he looked forward into the future with the man right by his side. 

Maybe they would return to the Black family home in the future. Sometime when Teddy and his bright soul will have banned the darkness from the long hallways and banished the bad memories from the countless rooms within. But for now, they weren’t in a hurry to return to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading this fic, it's been a ride... 
> 
> The title "Who put Bella in the Wych Elm" is actually part of an unsolved murder mystery dating back to the 1940es in the English Midlands where that sentence popped up as graffiti all around Birmingham. That sentence haunts me like nothing else so this is me exorcising myself. 
> 
> If you're into True Crime podcasts, I highly recommend the episodes on the unsolved case by Morbid, Supernatural with Ashley Flowers, and Mord auf Ex :)

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of H/D Cluefest and the creator is currently undercover. You can follow the fest at our [Tumblr](https://hd-cluefest.tumblr.com/). Creators will be unmasked on the 15th April.


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